


step out into sunlight

by permanere



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, M/M, Prompto's self-esteem issues, Sick Prompto Argentum, some comfort & fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21871795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/permanere/pseuds/permanere
Summary: On a lazy Sunday afternoon, Prompto had taken out a paper map of Insomnia from Noctis’ bookcase. It was at least five years old, and even then, the roads and turns made him dizzy with how big it was. The outlying areas were written in tiny font on the edges. It wasn’t even the entire world, Prompto thought, feeling suddenly too small.Then Noctis had plopped down beside him and started explaining the bridges and trains and his father’s road trip and everything connecting the rest of the world together, with Ignis and Gladio correcting him teasingly, and Prompto had smiled and remembered how to breathe.(a collection of fic/lets in an AU verse where everything is pretty much the same except there is no Chosen King and Noctis and everyone can be happy gdi.)
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	step out into sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> okay everyone listen up, I have acceptance issues of XV’s canon. I’m in permanent denial stage. I’m even writing again after a break of a few years for this. 
> 
> So! Have this series of fic(let)s which take place in a universe where everything is exactly the same except there is no prophecy of the Chosen King. Ardyn died for forever when Somnus killed him and took the Starscourge with him. And thus, the Crystal is just a fancy magic provider and the Astrals are, you know… just there. I just need my babies to be happy.
> 
> ☆ All chapters in this verse series are not in any kind of order.  
> ☆ As per the above, this is an AU where there is no prophecy of the Chosen King, and in turn, no Starscourge and daemons. Any other important background details will be mentioned in the notes.
> 
> ☆ betaed by the lovely [BananaMilkLightning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaMilkLightning).

It had been the middle of a school week, at the beginning of winter. The cold had gone around like some kind of stealthy assassin, passing around everyone, from students, to teachers, to janitors. Prompto was doing his best to delay his own turn, not looking forward to spending it alone and miserable. Except Noctis had been taken first. He’d seen the start of it from the way Noctis trudged into class with a weariness to his steps that was different from usual. Gladio had picked him up an hour before school let out. Noctis had mumbled to Prompto to still come over afterwards. So, he had, because it wasn’t like he had anything else to do, and he did want to check in on how Noctis was doing.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, though, to see how different and busy Noct’s apartment was, compared to usual. Noctis was still the Crown Prince, even though Prompto sometimes did actually forget it. There was a lady flitting around with a cleaning rag and disinfectant spray. Gladio pressing buttons on a fancy-looking machine, making a faint humming noise, changing colors with every press of the button. Ignis with a man in a doctor’s coat standing outside Noctis’ bedroom door, talking softly. Prompto wasn’t sure if the invitation had been unofficially rescinded. He faltered a moment at the entrance, his hand unconsciously moving to tug at his wristband before he lowered it in haste.

Gladio looked up at that moment and smiled in greeting. Prompto relaxed a tiny bit. “Hey, kid. Noctis asked about you. Better catch him before he conks out from the medicine.”

“Got it!” Prompto answered, heading towards Noctis’ room. He didn’t want to interrupt Ignis and the doctor’s conversation and chose to bow in greeting before passing them to go into the room. The half-drawn curtains let in some of the sunlight, yet Noctis was curled up in his bed with his back to it. Prompto could barely see his face. The blanket pulled up to his cheeks obscured his face in shadow, leaving only his forehead and a shock of messy black hair. Prompto took a quick glance around the room. Ignis had probably cleaned up before the doctor arrived, because there was none of Noctis’ usual mess. On the bedside table, there was a tray with a clear pill jar adorned with a small label, a jug of water, a half-filled glass, and a plate of saltine crackers. He made his way around the bed and sat on the edge, smiling down at Noctis when he blearily opened his eyes. “Hey there, buddy. Not looking so hot.”

“It sucks,” Noctis mumbled, closing his eyes again. “Ignis is convinced it’s divine punishment for never eating my vegetables.”

Prompto laughed and pressed his hand to Noctis’ forehead. He felt hot, but Prompto was sure that the cold wouldn’t last too long with Ignis and the Citadel doctor giving Noctis the best care possible in Insomnia. Noctis still looked pitiful, like a kitten left out in the street. A buzz with a piano jingle from near Noctis’ pillow drew Prompto’s attention, but Noctis took the ringing cell phone and silenced it immediately. Prompto glimpsed ‘OG DAD’ on the screen before Noctis slid it under his pillow.

Prompto wondered a lot about the exact details of Noctis’ relationship with his father, but he’d never ask. He knows enough about complicated relationships. Instead, Prompto waited for a beat, then two, then started chatting about games and photography and class until Noctis had drifted off. He then ate dinner with Ignis and Gladio, and it had been okay. He didn’t see much of Noctis for the next few days, whenever he did, there was always Ignis or Gladio nearby, bringing Noctis food, medicine, or anything else he needed. When he laid down to sleep and his thoughts started to drift, Prompto had somehow felt separated from Noctis’ world. Something like oil pulling away from water. So very close but never able to mix.

↠

It wasn’t envy, Prompto knew that for certain. He could never be envious of Noctis, he had known that since day one. He had learned how to accept what he had, as little as it was, and be happy with it, though it didn’t stop the hurt, enough to sting. The calendar hanging on the wall beside the fridge is marked with a red line all through to the beginning of next month. A reminder to Prompto, he’s always been an oil separated from water, probably.

 _Not that it matters_ , Prompto thinks with as little bitterness as he allows himself. The sun shines through his thin curtains, like there is no reason not to get up and start his day. He doesn’t want to, and _kinda_ can't move. It takes him a moment to convince himself to test out his fingers and then reach out to his phone. The screen shows ‘7:18 AM’. He mentally measures his ability to get up and decides against it. An empty day, in an empty house, no matter how much he’d rather be at school, laughing at Noctis’ lame jokes during history, or sneaking in some King’s Knight instead of paying attention during Latin. One day wouldn’t be too bad. Noctis had just gotten better and he didn’t want to make him worse again.

‘ _cant_ _school today, down 4 the count,_ ’ Prompto texts Noctis. He keeps the conversation open for a minute, seeing the text bubble pop up and disappear a couple of times. 

_‘Bang bang ur down,_ ’ Noctis’ reply came fast enough.

Prompto laughed and immediately regrets it, raising a hand to rub his throat, as if the action could soothe the raw and scratchy feeling on the inside. His phone buzzed with another message from Noctis. ‘ _get better soon, there’s nobody to cover me while i sleep._ ’

‘ _yeah yeah ur only using my ethereal beauty to distract from ur lazy ass,_ ’ He texted back. There was no text bubble this time, so Prompto locked his phone and put it back on the bedside table. Maybe he should text his mom too? He shot down the idea before it could gain traction in his mind, buoying him up with hope. He pulled his blanket up and tugged it as close as he could around him, wrapping himself up into a cocoon. Sleep came soon enough, calm and heavy on his eyelids. He thinks he hears his phone vibrate again - no matter, it could wait. The tendrils of sleep thankfully, finally, pulled him under again.

↠

The unceasing sunlight beating through the curtains made Prompto’s eyes throb when he woke again. His entire body ached, radiating heat from the inside out. He could feel the sweat on his skin, hot and cold all at once. The last time he’d gotten this sick was a couple of years back. He’d been alone then too. The school had called and he had barely been able to get to the phone before the ringing stopped. He wondered vaguely what had woken him up, head light and filling his vision with stars. Maybe he needed to eat something? The last meal he had was… half a plate of truffle risotto at Noctis’ place early last night, made by Ignis. Prompto’s stomach grumbles when he remembers the other half he’d pushed away, in favor of Noctis challenging him to continue Assassin’s Creed. Hadn’t Ignis offered to pack it for him? Was it still in Noctis’ fridge, waiting for its forgetful owner?

His phone rings and Prompto groans at the loud ringtone. It takes him a few seconds before he manages to grab it and answer without looking at the too bright screen, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. “Hello?”

“Ouch, that doesn’t sound fun,” Noctis’ voice answers on the other side. Prompto groans again and tugs the covers over himself to hide from the sun. “School was really boring today. How are you feeling?”

“Like you should shoot me in the head when I turn,” Prompto croaks out, throat hurting with every word. His thoughts run off again. Noctis’ response overshadowed by the possibility that he may be turning into a zombie. Was that a thing? Did Noctis know something? Maybe the Empire released a zombie virus into the air and Prompto was the first victim. Could viruses get past the Wall? Was there an Empire spy releasing it inside the Wall? Was _he_ an Empire spy? Prompto’s brain whirs to a stop at the notion, as he raises his free hand to touch his wristband. It starts up again when Noctis laughs, amused at his expense. “Prompto, stop right there. There’s no zombie virus, you’d be the first to know if I knew anything. Anyway, should I pick you up on the way home? I had some stuff at the Citadel, but I’m done now.”

Prompto thinks of Noct’s big bed, of Ignis, of Gladio, the lady with the disinfectant, and the doctor, all with their kind, concerned faces, when he looks around his own room. It’s not a bad room. His bed is comfortable, at least. He likes his room, his board of photos, his nice photo printer and the camera his dad had gotten for him. He did need new heavier curtains, though. The sunlight still hurt. Noctis’ curtains were so dark and weighty, that the sun seemed almost afraid to creep in through the tiny crack between them. He remembers Ignis’ calm voice, talking about something or other. The sound of the knife thudding loud against the chopping board in the quiet apartment. Prompto had watched quietly, listening to Ignis talk. What had Ignis talked about? What had Ignis made? He couldn’t remember, but it had tasted really good. He wouldn’t mind some of Ignis’ food right now. Wait, was Noctis talking to him? Noctis’ voice seems to be coming through some kind of filter, faint and fuzzy.

“Hey, Prompto? Still there?”

“Remember to shoot right in the forehead, okay?” He replies with a thin laugh. His stomach growls and he thinks about the couple cans of chickatrice soup he has somewhere in the kitchen cupboards. Hopefully they weren’t expired. His mind helpfully reminds him Noctis was waiting for his answer, about fifteen seconds too late. “I’m okay, I think. I just need some more sleep.”

There’s a pause, some muffled conversation. Prompto strains his ears and hears car honks, the thrum of guitar strings and singing behind the conversing voices. He wants to check the time, sometime when his eyes don’t hurt so much. Noctis sighs. “Will you call me if you need anything at all?”

He needs a shower, a lot of cold water, the strongest painkillers he can get without a prescription, a change of clothes, bedsheets. For maybe, Noctis to bring a container of soup and silly stories about his Citadel adventures. He’s never been brave enough to say what he really feels, and anyway, he could get everything else on his own. He had always done everything on his own. With or without Noctis, as nice as it would be to have Noctis by his side.

“Sure. Thanks, Noct. Don’t worry about me.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Noctis answers gruffly, laughter in his voice. He hangs up without a goodbye, like he always does. Prompto would have laughed and thought it was funny if he weren’t sick, but now all he wants to do is cry.

↠

The next time he wakes up, it’s with a start. Prompto doesn’t remember falling asleep after Noctis’ call. He sits up with an abruptness and regrets it, falling back down onto his pillow. Nausea crawls up his throat. The room is dark, the only light filtering in from the corridor. He tries to sit up again, much slower this time. Steeling himself, he pushes shaking hands onto the mattress and slides himself down to the edge of the bed. The laminated wood floor is blissfully cold against his feet. His body somehow hurts even more, every inch of his skin feels sticky and hot, spread thin over his bones.

The moment he stands up, he knows he’s made a mistake. He stumbles forward a few steps and grabs the door frame, leaning against it as he slides down to the floor. The tears he’d kept held in suddenly push, push, _push_ , and he can’t hold them back — the house is so still. Prompto can see the thin layers of dust on the paintings hanging on the walls. The door to his parents’ bedroom is ajar, the lights off. Everything is so quiet. Maybe it’s the sickness taking charge, yet Prompto only wants noise. He wants voices, footsteps, running water, stupid color-changing humming machines, cupboards and doors opening and closing. Instead, he can only hear the hum of the water pipes and the distant sound of a dog barking. He presses his cheek onto the cold floor, relishing the slight relief it brings against his hot skin and tears. His hair is stuck to his cheeks and he pushes it up, away from his face. Listening to the hum of the house under him, coming through the floorboards, makes him forget where he is. If he stayed down for a day or two, would he get better and be able to get up and go back to school? It seemed like the best course of action right now. He could lay here until his body decided it was done with this curse of a cold.

There’s a muffled sound of music from behind him, sliding into the middle of his jumbled thoughts. It’d be nice if he could summon whatever was ringing to him, but the floor was still a welcome relief and Prompto was still so tired. The music sounded like the ringtone he had set for Noctis, but he didn’t know for sure. It was too far away, unlike the fatigue settling into his bones and fogging his brain. Prompto’s body seemed to realize it was far away from the warmth of the bed and the comforting blanket, and chose to rebel. He tried to get up, but he couldn’t stop shaking. Now, everything turned cold, again. The music had stopped for a brief moment before starting up again, almost urgent. Prompto can’t move to turn it off, whatever it was. Shivers wrack his body as he curls up and wraps his arms around himself. The self-pitying, pathetic part of his mind brings up Ignis fussing over Noctis, his fingers feather light against Noctis’ forehead and hair. Gladio refilling the jugs of water, making sure Noctis took his medicine. The constant ping of messages and missed calls on Noctis’ phone from ‘OG DAD.’ Prompto closes his eyes, ignores the tears, and pretends he’s in Noctis’ apartment right now. Pretends he’s someone as important and loved as Noctis, someone who would thankfully never know the true meaning of being alone. He wasn’t envious, not at all, yet...

Ignis’ voice, slightly harried but concerned, a tone Prompto hasn’t really heard before, comes up.

“Prompto? Are you home?”

Prompto wonders where or when he’s actually heard that tone before. He sees Ignis almost every day at Noctis’ apartment, where he always sounds calm and collected. Unless he’s annoyed at Noctis, Prompto, or both of them together. Sometimes he’s even exasperated at Gladio. Prompto slides it away into the back of his mind to think about it later. Ignis’ voice comes again, louder, more worried, followed by repeated rings of the doorbell.

“Prompto, please answer if you are home.”

Ignis’ voice sounds like it’s coming from much closer than Prompto’s own mind. It’s tempting to get up and make his way downstairs to make sure. The only thing preventing him from doing so is that he cannot get up. Would Ignis be able to hear him from downstairs if he replies? He tests his voice and winces at how scratchy it sounds. He sounds like a zombie. He’s definitely turning. It’s a good thing Ignis is here, he could kill him with something sharp or quick. Does Ignis carry weapons with him? Would King Regis let him use the weapons to kill a zombie Prompto? Eh, Prompto isn’t sure if he wants to put Ignis through that kind of trauma. Taking care of Noctis since childhood must have been hard enough. He didn’t need killing Noctis’ zombie best friend on his list too. Prompto makes another noise just in case Ignis is listening, to warn him to run away. Zombies can kill.

There are the noises of shuffling downstairs, faraway voices talking, and then the click of the door lock. That’s cool, Ignis can pick locks. He’d definitely survive in the zombie apocalypse. He listens to the sound of footsteps as they reach the top of the stairs, where someone dressed properly for winter emerged. The someone turns and Prompto stares - well, that’s definitely Ignis looking down at him with an even stare. Ignis is nice, sure, but Prompto has seen him take down Gladio without a single hair out of place, too. He isn’t sure what Ignis’ stare means right now.

“Prompto? What happened?”

“I’m two minutes away from eating you,” Prompto mumbles. His brain feels like it’s mush inside his head. Ignis is taking slow steps towards him, hands held out in front of him like he was approaching a fearful animal. “That would suck because you are really cool and nice and you make good food. Eating you would be a waste.”

There’s a loud snort from behind Ignis and Prompto would jump in surprise if he had any strength in his body. Gladio is standing behind Ignis, his lips pressed together firmly, his eyes wrinkled in mirth, while Ignis’ face remains blank. Prompto looks back to Ignis. Would it be too much to ask Ignis to make him some soup since they’re already here? All sudden, Prompto is struck with how weary he is. Even his face hurts. Ignis is half-kneeling in front of him, his hands now on Prompto’s shoulders, sliding up with gentle fingers to touch his face and forehead. They’re so cool, comforting against his hot skin. Prompto leans forward without even being able to stop himself, no matter how pathetic he must seem. Ignis seems like he’s about to pull back his hands, but Prompto has expended any energy he had sucked in from the floor, he’s so very tired, and Ignis’ hands are soft, and caring. He tries to say ‘sorry,’ before the blackness creeping in takes hold, he isn’t quite sure he manages it before it does and - he’s gone.

↠

“I told him to call if he needed anything and he said he would.” Noctis murmured, pushing Prompto’s tangled hair off his face and brushing it back.

Prompto’s hair is the tiniest bit damp with sweat and he’s still so hot, letting out little whimpers every now and then. Ignis hums in reply, a disapproving undertone to his hum. Noctis frowns when a door slams loud, somewhere outside his apartment. Prompto looks terrible, too small in the middle of Noctis’ black blankets. Could it really have been that hard for Prompto to call him? Hadn’t he made it clear to Prompto that he would do anything he could for him? He had offered and meant it. Instead, Prompto had rambled on about zombies. _Zombies_. Noctis feels worse now, realizing it had been Prompto delirious from the fever and not being his usual joke-cracking Prompto self. He’d asked Ignis to drop off some food and check in, assuming Prompto would have definitely called if he needed help. He knows now that he should’ve known better, as well as he knew Prompto.

“Noct…” Prompto’s low mumble tore Noctis away from his thoughts. He leaned closer to Prompto, who was staring up at Noctis with bright, unfocused eyes, like he was somewhere else. Maybe he was. Noctis slid his hand down to feel Prompto’s forehead, still hot. Prompto’s eyes fluttered shut for a second before opening again, still looking up at Noctis. “That feels so good. I can feel it. Are you real?”

Ignis saves Noctis from sputtering out a nonsensical answer, swooping in to grab the glass of cold water on the bedside table. Prompto’s eyes slide over to watch Ignis like he isn’t sure if Ignis is real too. Even when Ignis perches himself on the edge of the bed and reaches his free arm behind Prompto to gently prop him up. It’s enough to help him drink the water.

“Prompto, please drink this. Slowly.”

“I like this dream,” Prompto says, mostly to himself, raising his shaky hand over Ignis’ on the glass. He takes a careful sip before steadily drinking more, until the glass is empty. Noctis isn’t sure how to feel as he numbly takes the glass of water from Ignis to refill it. He also hands over two pills of the medicine Ignis had procured out of thin air. Prompto is looking around in wonder before his eyes stop on Noctis and his lips turn up in a weak but ever so sweet smile. “I definitely dreamt of this. Good work, self.”

Noctis doesn’t want to ask, except - “What did you dream of?”

“This,” Prompto answers simply, letting Ignis press the pills into his hand. Noctis watches Ignis help Prompto with the medicine and water. It isn’t enough. What is _this_? Did Prompto mean having people take care of him? That shouldn’t be something Prompto would dream of. Noctis’ chest seizes up in some semblance of anger, wondering if he had hit the mark. He knows about Prompto’s calendar. He’s held back choice words about Prompto’s parents the more he finds out about them. He doesn’t realize that his expression is mirroring his feelings until Prompto makes a sad noise. He’s looking up again at Noctis, but his hands are still around Ignis’ and the empty glass of water, refusing to let go. He looks almost guilty.

“This is… this is real? N-Noct… are you annoyed? Uh… I didn’t— I’m sorry.”

“No! No, I’m not! You’re fine. I’m fine,” Noctis says quick, sitting again at the edge of the bed and moving up closer to Prompto. Ignis pulls his hands away, almost reluctantly, to let Noctis take his place. Prompto watches him move away with a face reminiscent of a kicked puppy. “Are you feeling better?”

“If this is real, I think.” Prompto replies, sighing in relief when Noctis cautiously slides into bed beside him and pulls Prompto against him. He’s much too warm, Noctis idly thinks. Prompto has always liked touch, closeness, even if Noctis was still getting used to it. He wanted to be the one to come closer to Prompto for once. Prompto is jelly against Noctis’ body, voice sleepy and ridiculously soft. “If it’s a dream, maybe I’m dying in my sleep, which would make me not feel better.”

Noctis looks up at Ignis, whose expression remains blank. There’s the slight tenseness of his brows, betraying enough for Noctis to tell he’s taking many mental notes. “When was the last time you ate, Prompto?”

“Risotto.” The blond replied, coughing a few times before looking over at Noctis, like he isn’t sure if he can continue. “Then Noct… he whined because I’m better than him at Assassin’s Creed.”

Ignis crosses his arms. Noctis doesn’t remember the risotto, though he does remember the Assassin’s Creed. That had been a day and a half ago. He _had_ whined because he had wanted to show off to Prompto and his plans had been foiled by Prompto doing a lot better. Ignis had his own ways of taking care of Prompto, which had included making sure Noctis always sent Prompto off with packed leftovers. He doesn’t think he brought out any leftovers for Prompto, because Prompto had been afraid of missing the train home. He had crammed his things back into his school bag, and snatched only a half-eaten melted chocolate bar to stuff into his mouth, all while waving goodbye. Prompto is sliding underneath the black blanket, looking guiltier with each second passing of Noctis and Ignis staring at him in silence. He seemed like he wanted to say something in his own defense. Even though he was still shaking, eyes bright with fever, and probably didn’t know the reason for Noctis and Ignis’ silence.

There’s no reason to make him uneasy, so Noctis smiles and nods. He turns his stiff smile to Ignis, who lowers his arms and exits the room without a word. Presumably to prepare something equal in deliciousness and nutrition for Prompto to eat.

Prompto sniffs and Noctis tightens his arms around him unconsciously, immediately. “What is it? Do you need more water?”

“I didn’t dream this far,” Prompto whispers, eyes flitting around nervously. “I’ve always woken up before… well, anything. I don’t know what to do now.”

There it is, that anger that had scarcely had a chance to breathe coming back. Prompto’s fears and insecurities were clear as day to anyone who looked close enough, and Noctis spent a lot of time looking at Prompto. Noctis raises his hand to Prompto’s hair and tries to set a soothing rhythm while he runs his fingers through it. “You don’t have to do anything, just rest.”

“That’s easy, I can do that.” Prompto murmured against Noctis’ collarbone, his breaths coming in short puffs of hot air. Noctis keeps his hand steady and slow, focusing on counting Prompto’s breaths instead of anything else. It doesn’t take too long before Prompto is out again, his breathing evening out with sleep. Counting Prompto’s breaths makes Noctis aware that he’s close enough to count Prompto’s freckles. Noctis is about to trace them with his finger when he hears Ignis’ footsteps coming towards the room. So instead, he holds it in and straightens, looking up as Ignis enters the room.

“Is he any better?” Ignis asks in a hushed voice, putting down the tray of broth and bread. Noctis shakes his head, watches as Ignis places his hand on Prompto’s forehead with a frown. “I must leave now, but I shall be back in the morning. If there is anything you need, call me immediately.”

Noctis manages a grateful smile at Ignis, the rest of the day catching up with him. He wants nothing more than to sleep beside Prompto. “Thanks, Specs. I think I can manage for the rest of the night by myself.”

Ignis nods, understanding, and tugs at the end of the blanket to straighten it over them. He gives a formal half-bow and exits the room, leaving Noctis alone with his thoughts and Prompto. Noctis waits for the beep of the apartment door before he shifts himself towards Prompto, face-to-face with his best friend on the same pillow. It’s almost too much, something Noctis would’ve given anything for with both of them healthy and alert. Noctis is too tired to care, for once. Sleep beckons him, so he closes his eyes to join Prompto instead.

↠

There’s sunlight, like before. There’re curtains, the wrong color and place. The bed feels too big and Prompto is pretty sure he’s still dreaming some kind of interesting fever dream. Noctis is sleeping right beside him. He touches Noctis’ face, brushing away a stray eyelash. It’s cheesy, and Prompto knows he will never tell anyone, but he thinks there’s really nobody as perfect as Noctis. Awkward, shy, strong-willed, kind Noctis. Noctis makes a questioning noise and his eyes flutter open, staring at Prompto for a few seconds, and Prompto watches as Noct wakes up. He smiles sleepily when Noct pats Prompto’s hand on his cheek. 

“Are you feeling better, Blondie?”

Feeling better...? He does a mental check-up of himself at the question. He does feel better for the most part. He still feels tired, like he does after a long run, though he doesn’t feel that weird combination of hot and cold. His mind finally feels clear, despite the fact that Noctis is somehow in the same bed as him. He pulls the blanket around him and presses closer to Noctis.

“Yeah, I am. Am I in your bed or are you in mine?”

Noctis laughs and pats Prompto’s hand again before moving it away from his face. “Like your tiny-ass bed can fit both of us. You’re in mine, as in you’re in my place. I have Ignis, you don’t.”

“That’s true,” Prompto agrees. Noctis has a nice bed and place and also Ignis. It still doesn’t explain how he’s found his way here. He does remember Ignis in his house and fainting… He’d been so sure that was a fever dream. He tries to remember what he said - something about Ignis being cool? And food? Maybe? What did he say about Ignis? Maybe that Ignis was a good cook. Ignis did cook really well, after all. Prompto freezes when it feels familiar. Noctis looks confused in front of him when he feels the shift and the tension in Prompto’s body. “Uh, Noct? Did I… Did Ignis say I said anything dumb?”

Noctis is silent for a couple of seconds before biting his lip to hold in his laughter. He shakes his head. “Uh, not much, just that you didn’t want to eat him when you’re a zombie?”

Oh, no. Prompto groans and closes his eyes, feeling his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He doesn’t have to look to know Noctis is amused. A wave of nausea washes anew over him and he leans over, trying to calm it. He’s surprised when he’s suddenly against Noctis again, his arms wrapped around him tight. Prompto knows he should pull away. He doesn’t, knowing this is a rare chance nobody will be suspicious of. Noctis is talking, Prompto’s so close against him that his words vibrate between them. “It was scary when Gladio came in carrying you. You should’ve asked me for help.”

Prompto can’t help but feel trapped. He has to play this off. How could he tell Noctis why he couldn’t do that? He pulls back to weakly push away Noctis, no real intent in his shove. Noctis isn’t frowning when Prompto sits up and takes a look. His expression is hovering somewhere between blank and mild annoyance. His eyes aren’t blank at all. Prompto looks down when he sees the worry and slight anger in them. His stomach is tight with both nerves and nausea now. “I… I wasn’t really in the right state of mind. I will, next time. Not that I want a next time, but you know.”

Noctis doesn’t seem to like his answer. Prompto has learned enough of Noctis to tell from the tense muscles of his shoulders and the uncertain frown. He seems to be considering if he should keep at it, but then decides against it and drops back down to a sleeping position. Prompto wants to fidget with his wristband, or his hair, or his fingernails. He’s about to say anything to lift the heavy air between them, when Noctis shifts so he can look up at Prompto from where he’s buried himself into his pillow. “Are you okay for a shower while I get some more sleep before Ignis finishes breakfast?”

A shower sounds heavenly. Grateful, Prompto nods and pulls himself away from the bed, happy to have a brief escape to gather his thoughts. He’s about to close the door to the bathroom when Noctis calls out, his voice already heavy with sleep. “Just yell if you need anything. Like I said before.”

Prompto’s heart and throat fill up with something unexplainable, warm and sweet. He shuts the door to hide his red face and turns to lean his back on it. He notices the clothes and a clean towel folded neatly over the counter. They’re soft and smell like Noctis, when Prompto picks them up. Beside them is a note left by Ignis.

_Prompto —_

_I hope these are suitable. If there's anything else you'd rather prefer, do let me know._

It’s difficult to describe how the simple note makes Prompto feel. Even if they weren’t suitable, he wouldn’t say anything - that the choice was offered to him is enough. If he takes too long to leave the bathroom, nobody seems to notice.

It still feels like a dream when he steps out of the bathroom. His mind is clearer, his body refreshed, and the clothes are comforting against his skin. They fit well, even if they’re a tiny bit too big. Noctis has always preferred comfort over style. Ignis shuttles him to the living room for a breakfast of oatmeal and cut up fruit with honey lemon tea, Noctis joining them after his own shower. His hair is still wet and drips water onto Prompto’s shirt when he leans on his shoulder to steal some of the fruit. Ignis tuts with crossed arms as a warning, one Noctis doesn’t heed. There’s still that lingering feeling of sickness that is stuck to his skin and muscles, causing his body to run a little too warm and throat feel a little too sore. That makes him look at everything around him like it’s a figment of his fevered mind. Noctis laughs when Ignis frowns and holds out a stolen strawberry as an offering, pulling Prompto back to reality.

It’s two days before the dream starts to fade away. It’s wrong to think so bleakly, Prompto scolds himself while he takes off the second pair of borrowed pajamas. He puts on an outfit Noctis has chosen for him, a long-sleeved white knit sweater with light wash jeans. After all, it’d been two long, blissful days, having breakfasts with Ignis while Noctis was at school, playing games and doing homework together with Noctis, and watching late-night movies with Gladio. He can get up from the bed without making his head spin. Noctis has just come home from school. He can hear the tail-ends of a dying discussion about some Citadel documents. Prompto folds the clothes slowly and places them over the bed, running his hand over them to smooth out any wrinkles. He sighs and turns to the door, preparing himself to slip into that familiar brightness. It won’t take long before he forgets the apprehension and eases back into his regular life. He knows it won’t, but the steps he takes towards the living room are heavier than he’d expected. Noctis is half-asleep on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels. He perks up the tiniest bit when he catches sight of Prompto and flops over him as soon as he takes a seat. Prompto can almost physically feel the melancholy creeping its fingers over his neck. He fights it away, all the way to night, where it forces its way back when he takes a seat beside Ignis in the car. Noctis had bid him goodbye upstairs, ruffling his hair before retreating back into his apartment.

The ride is quiet, both miserably and thankfully. Prompto isn’t sure what he can say when he’s so conflicted. There are hundreds of thoughts in his mind, all apprehensive at returning to his empty house after the few days of bliss with Noctis. Ignis has always known how to read the atmosphere, much better than Noctis ever could, and Prompto is thankful for that too. The closer he gets to home, the more familiar the streets look, the more he wants to give up on his pride and ask to go back. He doesn’t, he can’t, no matter how much he wishes he could. He keeps his eyes on the post boxes, counting them until the car comes to a stop by the sixth one. He takes a deep breath and lets it go before he turns to Ignis with the brightest smile he can muster. It falters in place when he meets Ignis’ eyes, dark with a strange kind of sympathy that Prompto is afraid of.

“Prompto, will you be alright? You are always welcome to stay longer if you are not feeling up to coming home.”

Ignis has always known the best ways to offer Prompto all kinds of outs, too. Prompto shakes his head and dials up the brightness of his smile. “I’ve been enough of a nuisance. Thanks though, Iggy. Really.”

There’s a short moment where Ignis looks like he’s measuring Prompto’s response, then he reaches out and places his hand on Prompto’s shoulder. He squeezes, firm but gentle. “You’re never a nuisance.”

It might be a lie, sure, except Ignis rarely lies and never for anyone’s benefit. It makes Prompto feel content anyway. “Aww, Iggy. Never took you for the sweet type.”

Ignis cracks a tiny smile before shaking his head. He hasn’t moved away his hand, and it’s a solid warmth against Prompto’s shoulder. “I want you to be certain of it. I know he will not tell you, but Noctis feels the same way as well. If it were up to him, he would have added your name as a resident in the apartment. Notwithstanding your approval, of course.”

“That might be true, but I’d never have enough money to pay for that kind of place.” Prompto says with a laugh, leaning over to grab the bag of packed meals and sleep clothes Ignis had prepared. 

Ignis pulls away his hand, and when Prompto looks over, it doesn’t look like he’s done with the conversation, like Prompto had thought. “Has Noctis ever told you why he moved out of the Citadel?”

Prompto remembers helping Noctis unpack and decorate, but he’d never asked why Noctis had moved out and Noctis hadn’t volunteered the information. Prompto shakes his head, letting Ignis continue. “He has always wanted to leave the Citadel, to eventually live on his own, yet he never formally asked until he met you. He wanted his own private space, of course, but he knew it would be difficult to continuously invite you to the Citadel.”

It’s utterly new information that is a bit hard to digest. Prompto hugs the bag to his chest and thinks about the times he had followed Noctis home after school, or used the key card he’d been given to burst in and wake him up on weekends. They feel so much more poignant now. Prompto wants to tell Noctis how much it means, somehow. He looks back at Ignis, who isn’t smiling, but has an affectionate expression on his face that Prompto hasn’t seen before. Prompto nods wordlessly, and hopes Ignis understands. He thinks Ignis probably does, like he always does.

The melancholy doesn’t disappear, not in its entirety. Prompto can’t keep it at bay when he waves goodbye to Ignis and lets himself into the empty house. It’s still too quiet, too draining, when he puts away the food and changes his bedsheets. It’s not threatening to choke him, though. He listens to the rumbling of the washer while he reheats some of Ignis’ food. If he let himself, he could hear Noctis and Gladio arguing over King’s Knight, Ignis’ faint voice on the phone with some Citadel attendant or other, but he doesn’t let it get that far. His phone starts pinging with notifications and he picks it up as he heads to the living room to eat. His phone pings again, more messages from _King of Fishing Noctis Lucis Caelum._ Prompto takes a bite of his food, smiling despite himself, before he unlocks his screen to message back. It doesn’t disappear, Prompto knows it won’t, except it’s enough that he pushes the melancholy to slink back, further away, just for now.

↠

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody can convince me high school Prompto didn't buy the cheapest smartphone that could play King's Knight and then never updated the OS on it because he used all the storage for photos.
> 
> Find me at twitter @permanere ❤


End file.
